


The Last Time

by LadyZaniahStrangeling



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: 500 words and less, F/M, Gen, crazy!mitchell, fast-write class activity, i really have no idea what else to put in these ambiguous tags, season 2 episode 7 angst, worriedandreflective!annie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:52:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZaniahStrangeling/pseuds/LadyZaniahStrangeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time I saw him, he was possessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so in a five-minute writing activity in class yesterday, we were given a starting sentence - 'The last time I saw...' - and were told to start writing. Then our teacher periodically gave us four words to include in the story - pooch, muffin, rain and secret. These sections of the text are all underlined to show where they were included. Somehow, the fangirl in me decided to write an Annie-centric fic inspired by the ending of episode 7 of season 2 - when Mitchell's slightly crazy and George and Annie leave for the facility. The timeline sort of expanded to include a little of season 3.
> 
> I apologise for any crappy errors and such that are located in the following piece of writing, but please bear in mind that this was written in slightly over five minutes (which also explains the short length).

The last time I saw him, he was possessed.

With what, I don’t know.

Maybe grief. Maybe- maybe blood. Maybe the ghosts of his victims controlling his body like puppet masters, and twisting his mind. Maybe it’s finally catching up to him. All those years spent hiding, all those years spent running. And for what? More running and more hiding.

It would never stop.

When we left, there was an old lady walking her dog. A prize pooch in the eye of the owner, but beauty is always in the eye of the beholder. I don’t know why I remember such a normal and mundane thing. But maybe that’s just it. It was normal and mundane. Everything we wanted.

Everything we weren’t.

When I looked in his eyes that day in the kitchen – so black with lust, so black with hate and desire – I could see the façade that he’d worked so hard to build start to crumble slowly, falling apart piece by piece like one of those muffins I used to make Owen every Sunday. It scared me. A man normally so in control and so reassuring losing his mind.

Losing his reality.

(Part of me wondered if this was it. If this was the beginning of the end; his spiral back down into a catastrophically hedonistic and destructive lifestyle. If we would lose him and be forced to watch helplessly as he drank his way through the world, leaving a cripplingly long trail of red behind him.

Victim by victim.

Drink by drink.

Day by day.)

When we arrived at the facility, it started to rain. A cold, hard, miserable rain. The kind that carried a biting cold with it; the sort that seeped into bones and joints with an icy crack and stiffened muscles with a restrictive hand. It seemed a perfect fit for our hasty and ill goodbye.

We all carry some sort of deadly secret with us – and sometimes it’s to the grave. In some cases it’s _beyond_ the grave. He’s not going to tell me what he’s done and I’m not going to ask. I don’t want to know. Partly because the past doesn’t define the person you are now and partly because I’m scared that if I know, all I see when I look at him will be those terrible, terrible things, their memory hovering around his dark curls like a slipped halo, choking him with images and flashbacks.

Before I was ripped violently away from this world I thought we’d lost him. And though the next time I saw him – his captured image a rarity that leaked through into Purgatory – and though I pleaded and begged, I didn’t think he’d come. I didn’t think I’d make him mine.

But he did. And he is.

And the last time I saw him, he was smiling.


End file.
